crash into you
by MrsRen
Summary: Hermione Granger has been single for far too long. Pining after her best friend has led nowhere and while riding the high of landing her new dream job, she decides to download a dating app to get over her unrequited crush. Little does she know, her match is a little too close to home. [Muggle AU.]
1. Chapter 1

**Hellooooo. Welcome to a new fic from me! Please read this note as it will contain warning for the fic. I promise this will be the only long note! **

**The main pairing for this story is James Potter/Hermione Granger. Side pairings will include James Potter/Lily Potter, one-sided Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, amongst others. **

**This story is about a r. If this is not up your alley, don't read! I don't want you to stumble into something that isn't for you. The infidelity is **_**heavy**_ **here. However, if that is your thing, welcome! **

**Warnings: explicit sexual content, engaging in an affair, infidelity, older man/younger woman. If you love Harry, please be forewarned that he kind of gets...shafted in this story? It's a happy ending for James and Hermione. The rest is bittersweet, I'd say. The decisions made by characters in crash into you do not line up with the author's personal views, but I do love a good affair fic. So here's my attempt. **

**Recently, I hosted a 'giveaway' for the 1000th reviewer on The Best of Me. jherndon2094 (soldmysoultorockandroll on AO3) won! I'm not going to copy/paste her request here since this is already long. Thank you for reading me, and interacting with me on tumblr. Seeing your name pop up always makes my day, and I'm grateful to know you! I truly hope you enjoy this story. Annnnd, I know I said I was going to write a oneshot for you, but, well, I lied. **

**Hope you enjoy a new story from me! It's three chapters, and updates weekly. **

**dreamsofdramione and mcal have my love forever for the endless support they give me. I couldn't function without them. **

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"So, what did you think?"

Hermione choked on her curry, and swallowed mouthfuls of water as Harry stared at her. She hoped her reaction was answer enough, but clearly it was too much to hope for. The restaurant carried on around them, voices mingling together, and she swallowed hard. "About…?"

As if Harry was going to believe she didn't know what he was talking about. He rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin. "I'm talking about Cho. Come on, you can't have already forgotten, 'Mione."

Her knuckles knocked against the underside of the table, but it went unnoticed. If Ron could just come back from the bathroom in a timely fashion for bloody _once_, she could probably steer this dreaded conversation to him. "She's nice." The compliment was forced.

Harry's brows lifted. "_Nice?" _he echoed. "She's fantastic."

_Fucking God, this is not what I want to deal with today._

It had been enough just applying for internships _and_ jobs that would fit an overnight schedule so she could pay the rent. She didn't need this today, too. "I don't know what you're looking for, Harry. This is what always happens. You sleep with a girl, and then you're serious about her for a few weeks."

Her best friend has incredibly bad dating etiquette. It wasn't that he had bad taste, per say. Cho was gorgeous with long black hair, and pretty lashes that Hermione was a bit envious of. But all the others had been pretty too. Romilda—who decidedly hadn't liked Hermione—stood out the most.

The short lived relationship with her had solidified the fact that she and Harry would never happen. If the women he dated were any indication, Hermione wasn't his type: plain in comparison and bookish—at least she thought so, but she shouldn't be so hard on herself. Surely that was all Harry saw when it came to her.

In fact, she was certain he still thought of her as that eleven year old with an awkward smile that he rarely actually saw from behind the stack of books she'd been carrying. It was infuriating.

Of all the men she could pine for, it was him.

She'd have been better off pining after Ron, even if he did have the emotional range of a teaspoon on most occasions.

"That's really negative." Harry's expression soured and she wanted to let her head fall to the table.

However, that required her to move her curry, and it was too much effort for her at the moment. "Do you want my honest opinion?"

He shifted awkwardly as Ron joined them again. "What did I miss?"

"Harry asked me my opinion about Cho is all."

Ron bobbed his head. "Yeah?"

"She's not very supportive."

Their friend snorted. "Can you blame her? What woman wants to listen to how you sleep through women—"

"I date them!"

Another snort. "Yeah, you _date _them. That's what I'd call it. Anyway, Hermione's been plenty polite when it comes to telling you she likes them fine, but no woman wants to listen to it over and over again. Especially when Hermione already knows how it's going to end."

Harry's jaw fell slack, and it was incredibly irritating that he thought he had the right to be upset.

_If he'd just fucking open his eyes._

"Hermione isn't a woman—"

She made a sound of indignation that sounded too much like a squawk. "I beg your pardon!"

"She's my best mate, and you're both supposed to be supportive."

Ron looked at her, his gaze dropping and he glanced directly at Harry. "No, she's definitely a woman, who just so happens to be your best mate. Pull your head out."

He pushed his curry around the dish, not bothering to look at either one of them.

It was too much to deal with when she could spend her time on applications rather than dealing with her pathetic, unrequited feelings, but she tried anyway because it was Harry, who she still dropped everything for even if he didn't always deserve it. "Tell us how you met Cho then."

Hermione had decided to keep an open mind, but her heart ached when Harry told them it had been a one night stand after a party—which was his normal.

While he didn't catch the hurt that flashed across her face, Ron did, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

Once Harry had finished his story—which could have been much shorter—Hermione pushed away from the table and left her part of the bill. "I need to finish my applications. I'll see you Thursday."

Ron caught her wrist. "For your internship? If you like, I can take over your application for jobs."

She smiled. At least there was one person she could count on. "Depends, do you remember my birthday is in September and not August?"

"It was _one_ time."

"Why are you applying for jobs?" Harry asked around a mouthful of food.

She'd told him this. Even worse, she'd told him multiple times while panicking about how she would manage it. "I have to pay for my flat still, Harry. It's an unpaid internship." Not sticking around to hear him explain how ridiculous it was for the umpteenth time, Hermione told Ron he was welcome to help whenever he finished eating.

For her sake, she hoped Harry didn't come to her flat at all.

But then again, she hoped that he would.

**~o~**

Hermione thought she'd lucked out finding a short staffed overnight diner that called her within two days of receiving her application. She'd dressed nicely for the interview while remaining casual with a pair of nice jeans and a blouse she'd bought for a guest lecture by Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course, it was raining, and all the work she'd put into her hair was bound to be rendered pointless.

Her mobile rang, vibrating against the top of the counter and steadily moving towards the edge. She didn't recognise the number but swiped her finger across the screen to answer it anyway. With her luck, Hermione worried it might be the restaurant calling to cancel the interview and she'd be back to square one again.

"Hello?" Hermione stepped into her flats and bent down to adjust the backs.

"Hello, is this Hermione Granger?" The raspy voice that filtered from the speaker wasn't the owner she had spoken to the night before. She actually had no idea who it was.

Crooks walked between her legs and she shooed him away before he could shed hair on her. "Yes, this is she." She had put in multiple applications elsewhere, but this voice sounded familiar.

"Perfect. This is James Potter." She nearly dropped the phone.

Harry's father? "Is Harry okay? I can be there—"

He chuckled. "Harry's fine. At least, I assume he is. One never knows when he's going to get himself into trouble but I'm not calling to talk about my son. I'm calling to talk about you."

Hermione barely knew James in any sense. He was the father of her best friend. The extent of their former interactions were limited to her and Harry to James' office to drop off lunch. So, knowing just how casual this man was, Hermione could clearly imagine him leaned back in his leather chair with his feet kicked onto the edge of his desk as he twisted the cord of the phone around his finger.

"Oh, I see." Hermione swiped her keys from the table with a frown. "Could I call you back in an hour? I have an interview this morning."

"That's actually what I called to talk to you about. Harry mentioned you'd secured an internship with Albus. It's unpaid, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

There was a steady exhale. "I always did think it was rubbish that most internships were unpaid while schooling is far from cheap. Are you planning to work nights?"

Hermione's stomach churned as her hand rested on the doorknob. She had an inkling where this conversation was going, but she didn't want to do something silly like hope. "Yes, there's a twenty-four hour diner not far from my house."

"Tell me, when do you plan to sleep?"

Her hackles rose. She'd already debated this with Ron—even Molly had chimed in. "Whenever I can. I've dedicated myself to this and I'm not going to let something as insignificant as sleep hold me back from it." Perhaps it had been a little more spiteful than it needed to be, but the words were out there—tone and all—and she couldn't take it back.

James was silent for a moment. "What do you think of coming to work for me?"

She sucked in a breath. There was no way he hadn't heard it, and God, that was mortifying. "I've already accepted my internship—"

"I want to pay you to work for me," James drawled, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You're the type I'd want in my office, Hermione."

She slumped against the wall, unable to think. An internship with Albus Dumbledore was something she'd wanted for a long time. It had always been her aim, but she knew that James Potter was nearly unrivaled in a courtroom.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy for you. You might wish you'd gone ahead with your internship with Albus over there, but if you're willing to work..."

"Yes, I'd love to." Her fingers curled against her chest and her heart thumped wildly beneath her hand.

"Can you come by today to fill out paperwork?"

With another agreement, she hung up and stayed against the wall for a long moment. Harry had done this. There was no reason for his father to call her unless he'd told him that she planned to spread herself too thin.

That _had _to count for something. He _had _to care. Right?

**~o~**

Hermione had interacted with Lily more often than James, but when a sharp, feminine voice filtered through the office door, she froze, standing just outside. It was her voice, but it didn't sound anything like the woman that had helped at school events.

"Bloody ridiculous—"

"I'm working, Lily. This isn't something I can talk about right now." Exhaustion blanketed his voice and Hermione flexed her fingers around the bundle of files she held in her hand. "We can talk about it tonight."

A chair slid across the floor, the sound piercing the air, and Hermione imagined it had been ripped backward. "That's shite, James. You know you'll avoid coming home like a coward. You always do." Footsteps neared the door.

Panicked that it would look like she'd been eavesdropping, Hermione curled her fingers around the handle and entered the room with a mask of indifference. "Oh!" Unfortunately, she slammed right into Lily and the files in her hands dropped, papers scattering the room. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Potter."

Lily's lip uncurled from its sneer and she smiled at her. Still, the smile didn't quite fit her face. "Oh, what a surprise to see you, Hermione. You should be more careful." Lily swept out of the room, going out of her way to step on as many papers as she could. Several of them ripped.

James leaned against the front of his desk, his fingers swiping across his forehead as he sighed.

Disbelief curled in her stomach. "I'll make more copies." Hermione bent down to gather the loose papers and he knelt down in front of her.

"I'm terribly sorry you had to see that." He stretched his hand out, palm open. "Let me make the copies. She meant to make more work for me, and I'm not going to allow your day to be derailed by her temper."

Hermione stood in the middle of the office as James left, trying to make some sense out of what had just happened. For all her effort, Hermione couldn't reconcile what she knew about them with what she'd just seen.

**~o~**

In the weeks that followed, Hermione quickly learned to fall in line with the rest of the office when Lily Potter visited. The majority of them made themselves scarce in ways that couldn't be questioned. People stepped into their office, the secretary stopped gossiping with her daughter over the phone—which she only did when she was caught up, Hermione thought that was important to note—and Hermione kept her head down.

Usually, she used that time to make her copies if they were needed, and sometimes even when they weren't.

Today was different, however.

Today she was sitting at the round table in James' office, reading over trial witness statements for a beating that had turned her stomach from the first page. It was horrifying, something she'd mentioned in passing, and James had offered a grim smile before turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

Lily entered his office and Hermione wished she could disappear. "Hermione," Lily's lips pressed together as Hermione greeted her. "James, would you mind stepping out with me for a moment?"

"I can leave." Hermione insisted, but James shook his head.

"Continue what you're doing," he muttered, following his wife.

Hermione had no idea what was going on between James and Lily, but it seemed that it had been happening for a long time. Their marriage was clearly suffering. Harry couldn't have known, but Hermione had no intention of delivering that blow herself.

**~o~**

December bled into January, and as wind whistled past the thick glass windows of the office, Hermione thought about what the business had come to mean to her. She considered the office something of a second home, but she was forced to confront how true that statement was for her boss, too. Arriving early to work was her prerogative, but as she stood in the entry, hurriedly catching the door before it could slam shut, Hermione drew her lip between her teeth.

Her eyebrows rose as she saw a lump on the sofa in the corner and she sighed. It would be better for her—less awkward, anyway—if she turned around and came in at a time when he was already awake. Hermione wasn't sure what possessed her to ignore that solid bit of her own advice, but she dropped her bag into the chair in front of the desk as she inadvisably entered.

Hermione glanced at her cup of tea and sighed. She'd made a special trip to the shop just down the street, the one that was always busy. She wiped away the lipstick smudge on the plastic rim. With her heels clicking against the floor, Hermione made her way to the sofa and laid a hand on his shoulder.

James wasn't a light sleeper. He didn't stir an inch when she touched him, nor when she shook him slightly.

_Like father, like son_, she snorted.

"James," she whispered, shaking him a bit harder. When there was still no reply beyond a soft snore, she weighed her options. Judging by the files scattered around the room, there was no telling when he'd finally fallen asleep. He might even need the extra hour, but his secretary was an early riser just like her, and she was sure he wouldn't want anyone else to see this.

It wasn't as if he could merely pass it off as working late when both Hermione and his secretary had been privy to a scathing phone call from his wife just the night before.

"James!" Hermione snapped, jerking his shoulder hard.

He shot up, his forehead slamming against hers. "Oh, bloody hell—_Hermione?_"

She fumbled, thankful she had the forethought to press the cup of tea into his hand before gripping her forehead as it throbbed. "Oh, God." A weak whimper slipped between her lips and her eyes watered. "It should be no surprise that you're hard-headed, but _Jesus_!"

Hands softly gripped her hips and James pulled down her to sit beside him. "Shite, I'm sorry. I'll get you some Aspirin."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I probably shouldn't have been standing so close, but you're next to impossible to wake up."

His drawer opened and James pressed two tablets into her hand. "I can get water if—"

She swallowed them before he could finish his sentence. "No, it's fine."

Sitting between his pillow and blanket was awkward—though she didn't know why—and even more so when he sat down beside her. "This for me?" He held up the tea.

"Yes, I thought you might need it more than me."

"You're probably right. I'm sorry, this isn't a good way for you to see your boss."

Hermione wanted to reassure him that it wasn't his fault. She wanted to offer him some source of comfort, but she worried that any attempt might make it worse. It wasn't as if he needed to be reminded of the reason he'd stayed the night in his office.

"I don't mind. I considered letting you sleep longer, but Maria will be here soon." Already, she missed how his features were softer as he slept. Now that he was awake, the sharp cut of his jaw stood out, and his eyes were drawn tight. "I thought you wouldn't want anyone else to see you."

Eager to change the subject and cut her ogling—even if it was slight—short, Hermione stood. She gathered his blanket, folding it, and tucked it under her arm along with his pillow.

"Hermione, you don't have to—"

She slid them into an unused cabinet and turned to him. "In case you need that again. I think I'll go pick up breakfast. I'll bring your normal if that's alright."

Honestly, she just couldn't get out of there fast enough as the image of him sleeping cropped up over and over again.

**~o~**

James didn't stay the night at the office again.

Not that it was any of his business if he did, but they left at the same time nearly every day. Some nights were later than others and she considered whether her presence in his life made his marriage worse. It wasn't that she fancied herself as such, but nearly immediately after she'd started, Lily's visits had grown infrequent.

And from the interoffice gossip, that wasn't the norm.

It just seemed like so much of a coincidence, and staying late into the night with James, the thought crossed her mind more than once. It wasn't something she could simply ask about. Either James would laugh at the thought, or…

Or Lily might _actually _be angry that a much younger woman was working with her husband.

Hermione could only imagine how she would feel if the roles were reversed, but the thing was, she didn't know the story of what caused this rift to blow wide open. She was keen to believe it couldn't be James' fault now that she'd come to know him, but that was just an uninformed opinion.

Her opinion was shaping up to get her into trouble.

Ever since waking him up, Hermione's mind had been swamped with thoughts of the man. It struck her that she'd never had experience with an older man, and suddenly she was curious.

But she needed to return to reality, to remind herself that this was real life.

**~o~**

Hermione desperately needed a good shag—that was all. Case. Point. No questions about it.

The night before, another thought had visited her when she laid down. Her fingers had brushed the edge of her knickers before sliding under to drive herself toward an edge that she craved. A certain too-handsome face had flashed behind her lids. A face that looked too much like the one across from her now. She'd paid it no mind since she barely had any time to herself beyond a few hours at home. _Now, _though, it was clear that if she didn't take a night to herself, away from him, she would drive herself spare.

After politely excusing herself from the table, citing a reason that she really had to finish some work, Hermione paid her part of the bill and hurried towards the exit. While she adjusted her handbag, fishing her keys from the front pocket, footsteps slapped against the tile behind her until fingers curled around her elbow.

Her eyes shot open when Harry pulled her backward harder than needed and harder than he'd most likely meant to. "You're leaving?"

She couldn't take the hurt on his face anymore. "I thought that would be obvious by my saying that I was."

Harry faltered. "Look, Hannah is nervous enough to meet you—"

Hermione barked a laugh. "I'm sure she is, Harry. I know I would be nervous as hell to meet someone's best mates when I planned on ghosting him in a few weeks." She'd regret the words later, Hermione knew, but fuck her if they didn't feel fantastic to finally say. "You do whatever you want. I'm just not going to stick around for it."

His face was red. Ron was nearing them, each step quicker than the last. "Why are you being such a bitch?"

A grin stretched across her face, and as petty as it felt, it didn't feel out of place at all. "I'm tired of this, Harry. If you can't see why that is, then I'm afraid I can't help you."

She was being vague because she was a coward, but it didn't bother her like she'd imagined it would.

"I fucking _like_ her," he spat. "If you're such a shitty friend that you can't even fake some support after I asked my dad to give you that job—"

Ron swept in and stepped between them. "Too far." His voice was low, and she could barely hear it over the pounding in her ears. "Hermione—"

"I can't believe you're comparing giving me support to pay my fucking bills with me supporting you shagging a different girl every week."

Harry began to backtrack, but it was already too late. "Wait, that's not—"

Hermione hurried out of the restaurant and locked herself in her car before hot tears slipped down her face.

While she'd thought she was over this unrequited infatuation for her best friend, she was clearly wrong.

She'd reached a boiling point.

**~o~**

That night, Hermione had sat in her car while hastily downloading Tinder, an app that she'd scoffed at whenever she saw it on Ron and Harry's phone. However, drastic times—for her, anyway—called for drastic measures. She wasn't willing to go to a pub and take a random stranger home, but for whatever reason, she'd do the exact same thing on the internet.

Bloody ridiculous.

She selected a photo that was her best one, and then cropped it so her lips were the focus of the photograph. Truly, she didn't need anyone to recognise her if possible, and if a photo of red painted lips didn't say _fuck me_, Hermione wasn't sure what would.

Granted, her shoulders and the swell of her cleavage was also visible, but from the matches that filtered in, it was clear most men were focusing on her lips.

There were several matches, Hermione noted, but the only one she paid any mind to came in on the third day since she'd dumped herself into a mess of her own design.

Her stomach swirled as she stood at the copier, shifting her weight from side to side as her phone dinged with a message. This man's photo was seemingly cropped close, just like hers. All she could see was how well he wore a suit.

Hermione had already enlarged the photo several times to look at his hands, and she'd imagined _those_ hands on her over and over again. Of course, she reasoned, it could have been a stock photo, or a photo pulled off the internet, but hers could be considered that too.

_Is this a photo of you?_

Dots bounced and a reply came quickly: _It is._

Her teeth dipped into the plush of her lower lip. _I see._

_Is that a photo of you?_

_It is._

They were on the cusp of the conversation tilting toward something else entirely, and now they couldn't depend on simple answers.

_You lips are quite pretty._

Unnoticed by her co-worker, Hermione preened at the compliment. Her stomach twisted and she hastily typed a reply.

_Seems like most people on here do, but their compliments have been less than impressive._

Honestly, Hermione had no idea why she mentioned that. If he thought she was talking to multiple men at once, he might think her a slag and stop replying. That thought, for whatever reason, made her stomach turn in a rather different way than the unpleasant twist before.

_How does mine rank?_

_Well, you called me pretty instead of telling me that you'd like to see my lips wrapped around a certain part of you._

_In the spirit of honesty, I can't say that I didn't think about that, but there's a time for filthy words._

Hermione had reached her desk before realizing she'd left her paperwork in the copier and turned around, her eyes still glued to her mobile.

She hardly got any work done for the rest of the day as they continued to message back and forth.

**~o~**

_Why are you on this?_

It was cheesy, but Hermione took the plunge. _I need a night to myself. Are you up for the task?_

She didn't expect for the relationship between her and Harry to be anything other than platonic, but she thought he owed her some sort of apology. Thursday afternoon, after yet another day passed without Harry reaching out to her, Hermione scheduled a time and place with her mystery messenger.

They made plans to meet at a posh hotel just outside of London, one that catered to wealthier clientele, which reminded her that she had absolutely no idea who she was meeting. She knew his age—he was nearly twenty years her senior.

At the time, Hermione hadn't stopped to consider _why _he didn't want to be seen by anyone he might know. All she'd thought was that _she _didn't want to run into anyone.

She wasn't ashamed, but Hermione didn't want to answer any questions either.

Hermione pocketed her mobile as James stood from his chair and closed his briefcase. "I don't think we've ever left this early." She laughed and he flashed her a grin. "I'm glad. I have plans tonight and I was worried I wouldn't have enough time to get ready."

He smirked. "You know you can leave at five any time you like, Hermione."

"And leave you with all the work? Never." They walked out together, still the last to leave and she beamed at him. "Have a great weekend."

"Hopefully it'll be as good as yours."

**~o~**

She'd shaved, plucked, lotioned—Hermione had spent an ungodly amount of time prepping for a hook-up, but none of that did anything to calm her frayed nerves. After checking in at the lobby, giving them the room number, and receiving the key, she hurried into the lift.

It was odd that they hadn't requested a name to confirm the room, but she assumed her mystery man had told them not to. Still, it was strange.

She'd shown up and let herself into a room paid for by a stranger, and _that _was the weird part?

Before she could talk herself into leaving, Hermione helped herself to the mini-bar that came fully stocked. God, why had she shown up twenty minutes early?

Minutes later, pleasantly buzzed, but not so inebriated that she would do something she regretted, Hermione took a seat at the foot of the bed. She bounced on it once, grinning at the softness, and then her stomach tightened when she remembered _why_ they needed a bed.

She wasn't embarrassed.

Just nervous.

Surely that would go away quickly once they got started. It wasn't as if they were going to spend any time _talking_, and she didn't want to be caught off guard just because she was nervous. She felt so silly. Adults—especially her age—did this all the time.

Hermione idly fidgeted with the edge of her dress, repeatedly telling herself that she'd stop the nervous tick the moment the door opened.

Maybe she ought to take another drink, but before she can stand, the door creaked. Hermione didn't look up, though she should have if she wanted to quell her frazzled nerves.

There was a distinct choking sound and Hermione's head snapped up. "Oh, my _God_." She shot to her feet.

James stared back at her, equally surprised, and her eyes widened.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

This was Harry's father, her boss—

_He was fucking married._

No wonder he hadn't wanted to meet anywhere they could be seen. Pieces dropped into place. She felt like she'd perfectly played the role of an utter fool. Hermione wrung her hands in front of her, no longer concerned with whether her legs were completely void of hair, and swallowed hard, only to find her mouth dry.

He opened and closed his mouth, but James didn't say anything. He could probably barely wrap his head around the situation, much less speak—she knew _she _couldn't.

Hermione would have found the entire thing more believable if someone jumped out and told her it was an elaborate prank.

But that didn't happen.

She blinked. James was still standing in front of her and she watched him kick the door shut.

The only sound in the room was a faint click.

"_You're _on tinder?" He pulled at his tie and his voice was raw.

Hermione gaped at him. That was the first thing out of his mouth? "It's perfectly socially acceptable for _me_ to be on tinder!"

He remained solidly in place, dragging his tie away from his throat.

She tracked the movement. Hermione was aware of several things at once, like the fact that she had no idea how she could ever face Harry again without blurting something out that he would never believe, or the fact that she'd been talking to James for _days._

Sweet mother of God, the things they had _talked _about.

Her anger bubbled and Hermione clenched her teeth.

"Hermione—" James stepped forward and all of her carefully constructed—_polite_—barbs died in her throat.

"Is this the reason your marriage is falling apart?" Hermione whispered, watching him freeze in place. His hand dropped away from her. "I felt sorry for you!"

James clenched his jaw. "_No,_" he said slowly, and then he took another step.

And another.

He placed one foot in front of the other until he towered over her. Her brain felt like it might short circuit.

"I've never done anything like this. It's the first time."

She was going to throw up on his shoes. Hermione shook her head, barely able to think beyond short term solutions, which was mainly to somehow quit her job—a dream come true—without questions being raised, and finding another.

She didn't pay attention until he curled a finger under her chin.

Until warmth sank into her skin and her lips involuntarily parted.

Each step was small, she noticed, and it was probably an effort not to scare her away. She meant to ask what he was doing. Really and truly, Hermione had meant to ask instead of whimpering when he backed her against the wall.

There was a split second of hesitation, and James looked from her eyes to her lips before slanting his mouth over hers.

A ragged gasp tore free of her throat, and Hermione curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, sliding her hands under his jacket and up his chest. Her elbow knocked against the decorative frame on the dresser as he wedged his knee between her thighs.

Hands framed her face and his tongue slid against hers.

A husky groan vibrated through her mouth, and in that moment, she remembered just _who_ was kissing her.

Hermione braced her hands against his chest and pushed him backward, shaking her head. "I can't do this"—_but, God I want to_—"I have to go." She pressed past him, snatching her handbag and coat from the chair, all but sprinting to the lift.

She was positive it meant something that James chased after her, his shirt wrinkled, completely fucked, but she didn't know if it was because he wanted to make sure she didn't tell his wife—or his _son_—or if it was because he wanted this.

She told herself it was the first, but Hermione couldn't help but hope it was the latter.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think! Also, I'm testing out new line breaks, so please let me know if they're not appearing correctly for you. See ya next week! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, friends! Here is chapter two. I'm glad that it's been liked so far, but do keep in mind that this is just a short story, and there's one more part left! I finished it today, actually. So that will upload on Sunday!**

**This was preread by mcal, who cheered me on like the majestic lady she is, and it was edited by myself. If you notice anything super off, please let me know in a comment or private message. I'm still testing out new page breaks, so let me know if the formatting gets wonky anywhere! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

There was a bottle of vodka in her freezer that had been abandoned by Ron, and it was perfectly chilled. So cold it bit her throat as it slid down, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut because it tasted so bloody terrible. With nothing to chase the foul liquid with, Hermione took several shots—if they could be considered as such since she drank straight from the bottle.

Of course, there were perfectly good glasses in the cupboard, but she slumped against the counter. She brought her lips away from the spout with a _pop_!

James Potter had kissed her, and God help her—she'd loved every blissful moment spent against him. Perhaps it was merely a string of seconds knotted together, but Hermione relived them with each desperate swallow.

What would have happened if she'd stayed?

Hermione knew what would have happened.

She'd have woken up tomorrow morning in a bed that wasn't hers, bare under soft sheets as muscled arms slipped around her hips.

Her head spun as the booze settled in her stomach, and any sense of right and wrong she'd had was totally fucking shot. _I should have stayed. _What was it Ron always said?

_Drunk words are sober thoughts._

Granted, her best friend had said that the morning after she'd dumped him while beyond pissed in a shitty dive bar Charlie ran, but the words still rang true anyway. Hermione wished that she'd stayed in that pretty hotel room with a balcony and a view.

Had there been a message from James—either through tinder or a regular text message—Hermione probably would have told him to come to her flat.

It was such a terrible idea.

She ought to be grateful that he hadn't contacted her at all in the last hour, but all Hermione could process was the churning sense of regret in her stomach.

**~o~**

Sunlight bled into the room, arching across the bed, and her face.

It was terrible.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and rolled until she wasn't facing the window. She sat up, cupping the side of her head as a vicious migraine returned. Drinking was never a good idea for her, but God, how much had she drank?

An empty bottle that had been tossed haphazardly tossed in the floor stared up at her, drained to the last drop.

_Fuck._

**~o~**

After eating breakfast from a restaurant around the corner of her flat, Hermione stared at her mobile. Still, there were no messages from him, but that wasn't the worst part.

She was supposed to meet him at the office today. Even though it was Sunday, James was due in court tomorrow morning, and today had been the last day they were meant to go over paperwork. Hermione considered showing up anyway, determined to see the situation through, but as she read previous messages between herself and James, she changed her mind.

The messages alone made the heat coil in the pit of her stomach.

No, she couldn't see him again. At least, not in a setting where they would be completely alone.

**~o~**

Monday morning arrived quicker than she wanted it to, but she stepped into her best pair of heels and styled her hair. While she told herself that she was only going this because it was always good to take pride in her appearance, Hermione knew it was much more than that.

It wasn't that she wanted his attention, not in a way that led to anything, but she'd always dressed well.

And a tiny part of her _did _want him to have to rake his eyes over her twice to drink in the sight of her.

She was a fucking mess.

Hermione had barely slept in the last two nights as she tried to form her thoughts. A plan was what she needed, but that was nearly impossible to do when she'd slipped her hand into her knickers while reading filthy text messages, and her fingers brushed her slit.

Phone calls had gone ignored from Harry and Ron, who invited her for breakfast that morning.

_I know you've gotta be angry still, but please let me make it up to you, 'Mione._

_Come on, you never have a lie-in._

_Hermione, please stop avoiding me._

_Okay, you were right. We broke up._

'_Mione?_

Hermione wasted time in the parking lot, her car idling, by opening Harry's messages. Truthfully, she had been asleep, but she imagined that if she had been awake, she probably still wouldn't have answered. How could she talk to him now that she'd gone and bloody snogged his father?

She wasn't sure how she could ever make it through a run-in with Lily without blurting the truth. What if James had lied to her; what if this hadn't been the first time as he claimed? Another notch to him was what she supposed it made her, even if she hadn't followed through since she's imagined every way they _could_ have followed through.

Hermione's finger hovered over the button, and she pressed it quickly before she could change her mind.

"Hello?" He answered, and the two syllables were slurred. "Hermione?"

There was a lump in her throat and she swallowed hard. "Hey, morning. I'm sorry I didn't reply earlier. Contrary to whatever you believe, I _do_ sleep in sometimes."

"On a Monday?" Alright, well, he had her there. "Hannah and I broke up Saturday night."

Maybe it had been at the same time she'd been pinned to a wall by his father. Hermione's fingers curled in her hair. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you okay?"

He snorted. "Fine, actually. It was nothing, just like always." Harry hesitated, probably waiting for her to tell him that she'd told him so, but she didn't fill the silence. "Are you okay?"

How in the bloody _fuck_ was she meant to reply? The truth was the best option—honestly was the _best_ policy and all that rot—but it burned her tongue. "I'm fine. Had a long weekend is all."

"Oh."

Traitorous tears stung her eyes. "I should go, Harry. I'm already late to work."

"I'm sure Dad won't care. He's always liked you."

That was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

**~o~**

The first time Hermione saw him since the night in question, it was as he walked into court. It could have felt like a perfectly normal day, but the illusion was shattered when he spotted her. Where there had previously been lines where his brows rose—and he argued with a man she didn't recognize—James' face softened.

Hermione felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Breath rushed from her lungs, and she made a sharp turn into the courtroom and took her seat before he could catch her.

Still, James stole several glances at her throughout the hour that followed.

The thing about being a lawyer was that you needed to command a courtroom. You had to master a balancing act of swaying the jury and convincing them that the only correct answer was the one _you_ presented.

James did all of that.

From her seat, Hermione was riveted to watch him charm the room.

Until he looked at her again. It was a stolen glance that no one would notice, but his eyes met hers for a long moment as the defence began opening statements. Hermione squirmed in her seat, squeezing her legs together.

He didn't miss the movement and a delicious, secret smile that was all for her curved his lips.

She was in so much trouble.

**~o~**

For all that he tried, Hermione was never alone in a room with James. She frequently made trips to the copier, all of those trips strategically planned. Whenever he asked her to help him in his office, she elected to ask another intern—this one who wasn't pursuing a career in law—to help them sift through paperwork.

James' nostrils flared each time she slipped through his fingers. It was a small thing that no one else would have noticed, save for her, and that was because she took notice of every thing he did.

And it was exhausting.

Her days had never felt like work before this _incident, _but now she felt as if she were working harder to avoid James than she ever had on things that actually fell under her job description.

When he entered a room, she slipped out, feigning that she needed to answer a phone call.

By the end of the week, Hermione could feel that everything was about to boil over the edge, and honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to be there for the fallout. It was ridiculous to stay. This wasn't something that could simply be shrugged off.

She stepped into his office Friday morning and kicked the door shut behind her. "Morning," Hermione greeted tersely. "My last day is going to be two weeks from now."

His mouth dropped open. "Hermione—" His voice was raw, and she could _not_ stay in the room or she'd cave.

She already knew that. "I'm going to call Albus Dumbledore's office on Monday. Hopefully, there will still be a position available for me, but if there isn't…" She shrugged. "I'll figure that out on my own. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Potter. I'm just afraid there's a personal conflict of interest here that I can't overcome."

Hermione didn't wait to hear his response before making her morning trip to the copier.

**~o~**

James didn't seek her out for the rest of the day, and Hermione sank into a pile of paperwork that was dreadfully high. She'd spent the bulk of the afternoon in his office while he was in court, flipping through files that kept her attention.

Perhaps she was leaving, but the least she could do was her best not to leave too much work behind.

Eventually, she would need to tell Harry and Ron that she'd quit, and she had no idea what she could say to curb their questions. And there were sure to be questions.

With the blinds and curtains drawn, Hermione didn't notice when the sun went down, or for that matter, when the rest of her peers left.

So, when the office door opened, and James stepped over the threshold, her voice lodged in her throat. James appeared just as surprised to see her as he pulled his tie from around his neck. "You're still here?"

She should have just rushed out past him and left her bag to retrieve on Monday. "There was a lot of paperwork." In hindsight, it was a rather foolish response. Neither of them wanted to talk about paperwork. "I lost track of time."

He sighed. James laid his briefcase on the table and braced his hands against it as he stared at her. "Yes, I can tell. You wouldn't have let yourself be caught alone if that weren't the case."

"Can you blame me?"

James' nostrils flared at her whisper. "No, I suppose I can't blame you for avoiding me. However, I can, and _do_ blame you for quitting without talking to me. I know this is about last weekend, Hermione."

Nodding, Hermione didn't know what to say, or where this conversation was going.

"My wants aside" —the emphasis on _want_ made her stomach twist— "I would never want to make you so uncomfortable that you felt the need to quit."

Hermione squeezed her hands together, tightly lacing her fingers, and shook her head. "The problem is that I'm not uncomfortable."

He blinked.

"I'm not uncomfortable because you kissed me." Hermione continued, though she shouldn't. This was exactly what she'd feared—that once she started talking, she wouldn't stop. "I would say that I'm uncomfortable because you haven't done it again."

There was that choking sound of surprise again. "You left."

Standing, Hermione found that her legs were weak. "I had to. You're married, but even knowing that, I got so bloody pissed in my flat that I almost called you. I almost asked you to come for no other reason than I wanted it, but that's selfish."

James' throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Then we should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm going to quit, and you're going to still be married. That's all there is to say."

He stepped around the table, and took small steps, watching her closely. Their chests were nearly touching. "I'm not supposed to think about you."

Hermione knew that. "You're my best friend's father. I'm not supposed to think about you either, but I have."

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, James smirked. "Just what have you thought about, love?"

This was a tipping point.

They were on the cusp of something they couldn't come back from, and logic roared for her to stop and _think._ "I've imagined what might have happened if I had stayed, but that doesn't matter now. I left. I'm leaving."

Fingers curled under her chin, tipping her head up. "Are you?"

She didn't have a response. James' eyes were nearly black, and her legs pressed together again.

"You seem to do that a lot." He murmured, dragging his thumb across the bow of her lips. "Especially when I'm around." His voice dropped an octave. "I wonder why that is, Hermione. Could you tell me?"

_Friction_, she thought, and Hermione's cheeks flushed when she accidentally said it as well. "I'm leaving."

But still, she didn't move.

Not one single step.

And he still held her chin, tipping her head up toward his. "You've been all I can think about, Hermione."

She could hear herself murmur the same, even though she'd sworn she wouldn't allow this to happen. "This is wrong."

James kissed her, and his fingers curled at the nape of her neck.

"We shouldn't do this." Hermione's words were muffled by his lips.

He picked her up, large hands cupping her arse as he sat in the leather chair behind his desk.

"You're married." Hermione didn't care anymore as he pushed her skirt up around her waist, and his hand slipped between her thighs.

Hermione sank down on him as he ripped her blouse up, buttons tearing from the soft fabric. Her head fell back as he filled her, stretching her as she rocked against him with muffled moans that surely echoed in the office.

**~o~**

James had come to her flat that weekend, spending the bulk of it between her thighs until her moans were reduced to weak cries. At one point, she'd wondered what he'd told his wife before deciding that she truly didn't want to know. The less she thought about it, the better, Hermione supposed, and she could ignore the guilt that would crush her if it ever got over her head.

Though admittedly, between earth-shattering orgasms and working—actually _working _since she'd shot down the idea of desk sex—there wasn't much time to feel bad. Hermione continued to do her best, and with each day that passed, it felt as if there were an invisible mark on her back. If anyone was going to notice, it would be the secretary, and Hermione berated herself to remember that late nights were _normal_.

There was no way for anyone to know.

Still, the fear hung just over her head, snapping to life at the most inopportune times.

One day, James' hand brushed her hip by mistake as they passed each other in the break room. Warmth had bloomed just under his fingers, but the damage had been done when she ripped away from him, eyes blown wide. Luckily, they had been alone, and he'd only chuckled. It had begun something James liked to refer to as _training_.

In short, he randomly touched her.

Innocent touches that would go unnoticed by anyone if she paid them no mind.

Long fingers brushed her hips from time to time. A hand flattened against the middle of her back when he walked with her, dipping almost too low, and she had stumbled. James helped her up, righting her while looking her over with a smug curve to his lips.

The real test—which wasn't a test at all—was the scariest moment of Hermione's life to date. She and James sat at the circular table in his office. She'd done well to keep her chair a respectable distance from his, but when the door opened in a hurry, and Lily stepped inside, Hermine had nearly panicked.

Comforted that her turmoil was limited to the swirling in her stomach and hadn't made its way onto her face, Hermione smiled. James and Lily carried on what might have been their most pleasant conversation in months as they swapped keys for their vehicles.

Lily's needed to be serviced, she learned and James had apparently suggested he take it in so Lily wouldn't have to deal with it.

Hermione's heart clenched. It just—

It sounded like something a doting husband would do. What was she meant to make of that?

She didn't jump when James' ankle brushed hers.

In fact, Hermione was fairly certain she didn't breathe until Lily left the room and the lock clicked.

"Hermione?" James nudged her foot with his own.

After swallowing, she murmured, "It's good that the two of you seem to be doing better." Maybe once he'd stepped outside his marriage, James had realised he was content to return to his wife. It made her dizzy to think about it.

"We're not." He settled his hand on her upper thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "She's taking an overnight trip, but her vehicle isn't going to make it. I'd rather not have to leave you to help her."

Lifting her head, Hermione smiled. It felt so silly to be jealous—because he wasn't truly hers, but Hermione didn't say that out loud—and cocked her head to the side. "What were you planning to do tonight?"

His hand slid farther, and he rubbed her slit through her knickers. "I've paid for a room if you'd be willing to join me."

Hermione very nearly broke her rule about no sex in the office—barring the one time.

**~o~**

If Harry noticed that she was no longer lecturing him about the choices in his love life, he didn't mention it. Weeks later, Hermione sat across from them in a pub as music roared through speakers. So far, she'd caught the name of one of his ex's—the dreaded Romilda—and the woman had already joined them.

She still loathed Hermione.

Her mobile vibrated in her pocket, and Hermione tucked herself against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest while bobbing her head to the music. Ron complained that she'd put her feet on him, but it was a show more than anything else.

With her chest light, and her head even lighter due to the haze of booze, Hermione shot a grin at him. James had texted her, which made for a very good night indeed.

_You are such a fucking minx_.

Still grinning, Hermione was careful not to let anyone see just what he was replying to.

Which was a picture of her posing in front of the floor-length mirror in her flat, still clad in her knickers, but her breasts were on display as she'd adjusted herself in the best angle possible.

_You asked for it though._

If he hadn't, she'd have never sent it for fear they would be caught.

Although…it was possible she wasn't so worried about being caught since Harry was not far from her at all.

_Are you having fun tonight?_

_Not so much._

As it were, Romilda glared daggers at her when Harry launched into a story in which Hermione was the focal point.

_There's a girl here that's not pleased to see me. I'm going to leave soon._

And she did leave once James asked if he could meet her at her flat.

Calls from her friends went ignored as he slammed into her, and wrapped her hair around his knuckles, fucking her until she cried out his name.

**~o~**

Hermione wore red lipstick, the same shade that had drawn him in originally.

A muttered _fuck_ slipped from his mouth as the door swung shut, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You can't wear that here."

She arched a brow. "Red is a power color." Hermione rounded his desk, and leaned against the edge, crossing her ankles. "I happen to think it makes me look nice."

"_Nice?"_ He choked. "That's not how I would describe it. It's very striking, but—"

Leaning forward, Hermione brushed her lips against his. "What is it, James?"

His fingers dugs into the leather of his chair. "Bloody hell, you know exactly what it makes me think about."

It was too easy, honestly.

"Tell me."

James glared at her, his eyes growing darker with each passing moment. "It makes me think about you pretty you look with your lips wrapped around my cock."

No one would be there for at least twenty minutes.

They had time.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, and unbuttoned his trousers, a wicked smirk forming on her lips. "Like this?" Hermione dragged her tongue up the underside of his cock. As he guided his cock into her mouth, Hermione whimpered as the tip met the back of her throat.

"Wanna see you come all over your fingers." James groaned softly, his head falling back.

Hermione sucked him, her pace quickening as the worry that someone would catch them grew.

James hissed a curse under his breath, and his hips jerked forward before spilling into her throat. His eyes grew wide as she swallowed. After bringing her to her feet, James pushed Hermione backward until her bum rested against the edge of his desk once more. "Fucking love this." He lowered his head between her thighs and licked a stripe up her cunt.

She gripped the edge of the desk, moaning while pressing herself closer to him. "James, please, we have to hurry, or we'll be caught."

Somehow, Hermine doubted James would stop even if they were caught.

The thought shouldn't have been as exhilarating as it was.

Two fingers pumped into her, curling with each stroke of his tongue, and Hermione broke apart in a chorus of broken whimpers.

**~o~**

Hermione met him as often as they were able. Lily's overnight trips had increased as of late, and in the months that followed, she was ashamed to say that she'd slept with James in the bed he shared with his wife.

Lately, her thoughts had turned though, and as much as she tried to ignore them, Hermione couldn't help it.

It wasn't about sex anymore.

It hadn't been about sex for some time, and she wasn't sure where that left her.

Nowhere good, that was for certain.

**~o~**

It had been a year.

A year of secret meetings, of near misses when it came to being caught. Hermione had long since stopped believing she should have cut it short sooner—though it would have been the moral thing to do—even if she could go back to the first night, she knew the only change she would have made would have been to stay in that hotel room.

To let James Potter absolutely fucking consumer her as he had for the past twelve months.

He kissed her until her toes curled.

Flowers had been delivered to the office on her birthday, with a card that read from _you know who, _which had become a running joke between the two of them.

But also, it meant it had been a year since she'd become a bloody good liar. Harry would never forgive her if he found out, and eventually, everything came to light. It couldn't stay buried forever no matter how hard they tried.

He kissed her in the mornings when he stayed the night—which had grown more frequent as Lily was away—and before they fell asleep.

James held her hand when they drove hours away to eat dinner together in public. He made the effort not to keep her hidden, and it had given her a taste of what she really wanted.

_Him_.

There was, of course, a problem. Hermione had never expected it to get this far, but here she was a year later, sitting on a bed in the same room where it had all began.

In love with a married man.

**~o~**

A bell dinged over her head, and from behind the counter, Hermione could hear a kettle whistling. There was a knot already formed in the pit of her stomach, and she pushed herself to take another step as she made her way to their usual table.

When her mobile had rung that morning, a shrill absurd sound echoing in the space of her bedroom, she'd known something wasn't right.

Harry waved to her, flagging her down, and she forced a smile. Everything was fine. This was nothing, really. It wouldn't be the first time she'd nearly combusted due to seeing her best friend—even though they had drifted apart ever since her relationship with James had begun. While he had no idea what had caused the rift, Harry still grinned at her, his eyes wide behind wire frames.

The point was, Hermione reminded herself, this wasn't the first time Harry's presence had made her anxious and it wouldn't be the last.

She slid into her seat, and shrugged out of her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. "Is everything alright?"

He pushed a mug toward her with a tight smile. "Erm, not really, no."

She'd previously thought her stomach couldn't drop any lower, but it apparently could. Lacing her fingers together tightly, Hermione hoped he wouldn't notice anything odd about her.

"I hope I remembered your regular. Milk with two sugars, right?"

It was three.

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, that's perfect." Honestly, in the large scheme of things, it didn't matter if she told white lies. Not when all of them combined could never overshadow the one she'd kept from him. "You're worrying me a bit, Harry."

More than a bit.

_If he knew, he wouldn't be buying you tea. He'd probably dump it over your head._

That was true, at least.

"My parents are separating."

A ragged breath rushed out of her without permission. "What? Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." Hermione recovered nicely if you asked her, but her head was spinning. James hadn't mentioned this.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "It wasn't a shock. Neither of them mentioned it, but its clear things weren't going well."

She was going to vomit.

She'd gone to sleep the night before tangled up in James, her lips resting against the smooth skin of his throat, and he'd been gone by the time she woke up. "When did they tell you?"

"This morning."

No wonder James had been gone by the time she woke up.

"I'm so sorry." Hermione had to quit saying that. "Have you told Ron?"

Harry shook his head, and his foot knocked against hers beneath the table. "Needed to talk to you first, and it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with him around." He'd lost her. "Give me your hand."

She arched a brow. "What?"

"Come on, 'Mione. Don't fight me for once, would you?"

Sighing, Hermione held out her hand. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice how clammy it was, or the way her pulse thundered. "Why wouldn't you want to tell me this with Ron around?"

"I've been an arse."

Blinking, Hermione wasn't sure what to say. "I don't follow."

He gulped. "Right, that was vague. I mean, I haven't been a good friend to you, but the fact that my parents are divorcing made me realize that what I've really been doing is taking you for granted."

Oh.

_Oh, no_.

Hermione's lips parted, and she nearly snatched her hand away. This couldn't be happening.

"You know, I thought my parents would be together for the rest of their bloody lives. James and Lily Potter, everyone's always talked about them. Maybe they don't get to have that, but _I _want to have that."

Tears sting her eyes.

He ran a thumb over her knuckles. "Please don't cry. Do you…do you think that kind of love is real?"

She did even though she wasn't sure she would ever have it with the man she'd fallen in love with.

"That maybe it comes from where you least expect it?"

Oh, he was going to bloody kill her.

Everything always came out. It had to.

"Hermione," he breathed her name. "You've been standing in front of me all along, and I'm sorry that I'm late to notice, but I want more, so much more with you."

The doorbell chimed again.

He still stared at her, thumb tracing over the bumps of her knuckles. "Hermione?"

Tears slid down her cheeks, and she pulled away. Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I'm so sorry—" she'd always been sorry, she thought, but never quite as sorry as she felt now. "I can't."

His face crumbled, and Harry slumped in his chair. "Can I ask why?" He was so timid, so much quieter than she'd ever heard, and it fucking _crushed _her.

"There's someone." She whispered. "I've been seeing someone for a while now." It was the truth, but it was still a lie.

Every word she had said for a bloody year had been a lie.

"I'm so sorry."

Harry whispered that she didn't have to apologise to him, and told her he needed to go, that he was sorry he'd sprung it on her. As if he'd ever done anything _wrong._

She hadn't known about the divorce. James had never mentioned having the thought to her, much less that he planned to follow through.

It felt like everything she had wanted, but what of the cost?

* * *

**Whomp, whomp. One more part to go. Let me know what you think and I'll see you Sunday for this to wrap up. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**And we have reached the end of my second attempt (published, anyway) at James/Hermione. Thank you for reading! Please keep in mind that this was a short story, so while I'm aware there were all sorts of plot points I could have explored, I chose not to for sake of keeping it short. After all, this was supposed to be a oneshot. Lol. **

* * *

Leaned against the armrest of the sofa, Hermione stared at the doorknob, waiting for it to inevitably turn. Only a few hours had passed since meeting Harry, but it may as well have felt like a lifetime. Unable to turn her thoughts off, Hermione had plenty of time to sift through her thoughts, and none of them had been pleasant.

Minutes past eight o'clock, the knob twisted and James let himself inside. There was a bundle of flowers trapped in his hand. He looked her over once, and his brows furrowed. Her name burst past his lips.

She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "Were you planning to tell me that you were petitioning for divorce, or was I always meant to learn that from Harry?"

His face drained of colour. James drew a ragged breath and dropped the hand-picked bouquet to the table in the entryway. "I had planned to tell you tonight, actually. Hence the…"

"You thought I would want flowers?"

"I didn't tell you for fear it wouldn't go as easily as it did; I can see that was a mistake on my part now." James slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I thought you would be happy."

Dragging a hand tiredly down her face, Hermione sighed. "I wouldn't be as angry if it hadn't been Harry to tell me this afternoon."

"I understand it must have been a nasty shock—"

"He told me that watching his parents divorce made him realise what had been standing in front of him all along." Hermione cut him off and watched his mouth snap shut. "He told me that he realized he'd taken advantage of me, that he wanted _more_."

James' eyes widened, and if possible, his features grew a shade paler.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "It's bad enough that I'm probably going to lose my best friend—which I can hardly complain about that since I've always known my actions would warrant it. Yet, I still met you. I never stayed away. That would be terrible enough, but now I've added more fuel to the fire."

"What did you tell him?" His tone was different, leaving no question as to whether it was the focus of their conversation now. "Hermione, Lily doesn't know. She has her suspicions that I've carried on an affair, but she doesn't know it's you."

Her chest hurt.

It fucking ached.

"I sat across from Harry and told him I was seeing someone, that I had been for a long time."

James closed the space between them, and slid an arm around her. He hugged her tightly, sinking his fingers into her hair.

"It's all my fucking fault." Hermione whimpered, fisting her hand in his suit. "I've ruined my best friend's family. You never would have done this if it weren't for me—that's not to say that I—that we—_fuck_!"

He smoothed a hand down the curve of her spine, and when he reached the bottom of her back, he began at the top again. "You make me so unbelievably happy, Hermione. I can't stand hiding that for another moment."

There were a thousand things that were wrong with that. Each of them were so deeply rooted in her mind that Hermione could only draw a wheezing breath. She'd been over this countless times in the silence that followed their couplings, the moments that passed them by as James drifted to sleep at her side.

There weren't many ways for this to end, but all of them ended badly. Months ago, Hermione had rationalized that there would be no happy endings here. She'd done a terrible thing, and it would cost her the price of happiness that she'd taken from another woman.

"You're right." He whispered into her hair, slowly swaying with her. "I wouldn't have filed the paperwork if it weren't for you."

A wretched sob forced its way free.

His arms tightened around her. "Lily and I have not loved one another in years. We've been circling the drain, so to speak, all this time, and we were never going to make the choice to get out. I'm not a man you deserve, Hermione. I've been cowardly in believing I could make you happy with stolen moments, but I want to be _better_, for _you._"

She loved him. Hermione had known that for some time by then, but hearing it said to her, in colourful that words that made it feel as if her chest were going to burst, was dizzying. Unable to think, she tilted her head up. "I never dreamed you would choose me."

It was wrong. It had always been wrong.

James crushed his lips to hers, cradling her face, as they stepped backwards. Hermione led him into the bedroom, unbuttoning her shirt as they stumbled, neither of them willing to part.

He dragged her zipper down, leaving her skirt to pool around her ankles as she pushed his suit jacket over his shoulders. It hit the floor, and James paid it no mind. The rest of their clothes followed quickly in a similar fashion, and the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed.

She could barely breathe. Reaching for him, her fingers closed around his shoulders, and Hermione pulled him closer as he settled in the cradle of her thighs. His cock slid against her folds, and he closed his mouth around one pert nipple while he pinched the other softly.

James slid into her in one thrust that utterly filled her.

Panting, Hermione watching him as he lifted her legs over his shoulders, and he thrust into her, each movement quicker—harder—than the last. "Oh, God." A choked whimper left her, and James leaned forward, reaching up to grip the headboard with one hand.

Though James said several things in between the low groans that filled her bedroom, combined with the low creak of her mattress, Hermione barely heard them. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as he murmured that she was so pretty, so perfect, so— "Bloody made for me." He growled, slamming into her, and her knees were forced toward her chest.

He traced her lips, marking the fascination he had with them, running his thumb over them and James hissed under his breath when she sucked the digit into her mouth.

Swirling her tongue around it, Hermione could hear the breathy little moans that left her.

With some difficulty, James pulled his hand away and slid his hand between their bodies. His thumb brushed her clit, pressing down hard enough to cause her to cry out, and he rubbed it in fast circles until she trembled.

James' mouth slanted against hers as she crested, and he spilt inside of her. He took each muffled whimper for himself, kissing her until her head swirled as he braced his hands on either side of her head. He fell to the bed beside her, drawing the blanket over them.

Hermione swallowed and peered up at him. "You're mine now?"

A slow, heart-stopping smile curved his lips as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ears. "Completely and utterly yours, love."

~o~

She waited for the other shoe to inevitably drop.

Hermione followed the motions of each day, though they were quite skewed from what they had been the week before. While James frequently slept over anyway, she found herself waking beside him each and every day now. She welcomed the mornings by straddling his waist, and lazily rocking against him as large hands gripped her hips. They ate breakfast together—sometimes they didn't, and opted for other _activities._

When she slipped into the shower, James tended to join her. Those times always ended with him picking her up, and sliding into her, the slippery tile meeting her back as the sound of their bodies joining—and the sounds she made herself—echoed in the shower.

She went to work, their arrivals staggered, and Hermione kept her head high even though it came with some difficulty. They had carried on a secret for this long, hadn't they?

Terrible secrets tended to reveal themselves during the divorce process. While it wasn't Hermione's chosen area of law—she preferred to keep to criminals, honestly—she knew it quite well. It was the one thing James didn't discuss with her, and she didn't ask. It's a nasty situation all the way around, and if she were perfectly clear, she had no want to know of the little details.

He was divorcing his wife.

Truly, it was all she needed to know.

Harry hadn't called her, but he'd texted her a handful of times. Each message led her to believe that while he said he was doing quite well, her friend was still hurting. Unable to imagine the exact awkwardness that would come with seeing him again, Hermione waited for him to find out.

Lily was a bright woman. Hermione had seen glimpses of it as she'd grown up alongside Harry—a thought that usually led to the age gap between James and herself, which she preferred not to think about—and knew that surely the woman would piece the facts together.

_A young intern starts and her husband starts to disappear frequently? I would be suspicious too._

That was a train of thought Hermione had no choice but to unravel. She was a fool, she thought, for pursuing a relationship with a married man. The added factor of how it was so taboo, given just who this married man was, only made it worse. But the point was that clearly, she and James had both proved that their sense of morals were skewed.

If he were willing to cheat on his wife to be with her, could she really believe he wouldn't be capable of cheating on her as well? She hadn't mentioned it to him, but the expected insecurities hadn't lasted long.

The weeks began and ended, but nothing happened.

James informed her that they were in the process of splitting everything, but Lily had come for blood by demanding to receive more than he did. _The divorce is what I want, she told me, so she expects me to…_

God, if Lily found out before the divorce was finalized, Hermione didn't want to think about the fallout.

But, of course, she had to think about that.

It was inevitable.

~o~

Everything came crashing down in the middle of the fourth week. She knew because she had counted.

James' hand curled around her elbow when she tripped over a wrinkle in the carpet, and she muttered under her breath. His eyes were bright when he laughed, and he reached up to push her hair from her face. "You're wearing that lipstick again."

Heat coiled at the pit of her stomach when he cast his gaze toward his desk, and the memory of just what had happened there rushed up to meet her. "We have work to do, you know."

"Oh," he arched a dark brow. "But you like taking your work home with you, I thought." His fingers drifted up her arms, brushing her soft skin, and her lips parted.

He'd taken to being a bloody difficult tease since the shift in their relationship.

"Perhaps if you're nice, we can take a working lunch." She muttered. They barely followed their rule about keeping their hands to themselves while in the office, but not it was more important than ever that they at least attempt to keep things quiet.

Interoffice gossip would explode.

"You mean a shagging lunch?" James murmured, hand still wandering. His thumb grazed the swell of her breast. "We could pretend to pick up lunch, go to your flat—"

The door slammed open, and Hermione jumped away from him.

When she turned her head, her eyes connected with Lily, and there was no use in pretending the secret could be salvaged. Hermione swallowed hard, and wondered if the woman was going to strike her. If she did, Hermione truly couldn't say that she'd fault her for it.

"You're bloody joking!" Lily screeched. "You're fucking your intern!" It was phrased as a question, but a question it was not.

Hermione didn't say a word. What could she say? That she was sorry? She wasn't sorry in the least, Hermione supposed.

"You little whore! I welcomed you into my home for years, and you—"

James mouthed, "_Go."_

She didn't hesitate, even as she flinched when Lily could be heard yelling that she was going to destroy any shred of credibility Hermione had all the way from the lift.

~o~

No matter how much she cried, Hermione couldn't stop. She'd thought it would end. It had to stop eventually, didn't it? At some point.

Hours passed without a call from James, and it felt as if hornets had been set loose in her stomach. With every moment he didn't call, the more she worried. What if their indiscretions—and that was what they were in every sense of the word—cost him his practice? His professional reputation was sure to take a hit. It was something you heard about all the time, a man sleeping with his younger colleague. Usually a secretary if the stories that bled into the press were to be believed.

If James lost his practice, Hermione feared he might never forgive her. They had both been willing—God, so fucking _willing_—participants, but now the curtain had been ripped away and there was nowhere to hide. Now the light was heavily centred on them, and it could follow them everywhere they went.

Where did that leave them?

And where exactly did it leave her?

The worst case—the absolute worst case—for James was to lose his office. It would terrible, and messy, and it would deliver a massive blow to his pride. Yet, he would recover. It might not be with an ounce of grace, but he would. There couldn't be any doubt about that. He would rebuild, of course, and maybe he would start over somewhere else.

Hermione liked to imagine that she would be right there with him, but that was a thread to untangle later. Much, much later.

People would forget.

Those who knew him would eventually turn a blind eye to what he had done, but the same couldn't be said for her. And it made her blood boil. Women would look at her and see the woman who had seduced a married man—as if that were actually the truth—and look down on her. Hermione couldn't find it within her to blame them when if the roles were reversed, she would have done the same.

Men would look to her with an obvious curl to their lips, and they would leer at her because _she _was the woman who had taken part in an affair. If her professional reputation—and there was so, so little of it at the beginning—was raked over coals, she might not recover unless she moved far away.

James would be fine, in spite of everything, because he was a man.

Men demanded respect, and even though the world was changing everyday now, it didn't mean much to Hermione at the moment.

She was going to be sick.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and she sighed. It was probably James, and he'd likely assumed that she didn't want him to come in after the scene in his office. Truthfully, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to see him or not, but there was no time to hide.

There was nowhere to do so either.

Smoothing her hair down, and then her blouse, Hermione drew a deep breath, and opened the door. Immediately, she wished that she hadn't. With her stomach sinking lower than she thought possible, her eyes widened at the sight of Harry.

His hair stuck in every direction, as if he'd been dragging his fingers through it over and over again. Red tinged his bottom lip, and she knew without a doubt that he'd nearly chewed a hole through it over the drive that had brought him here. One look at his face—to find his features drawn, and there was anger simmering just under the surface—and she couldn't even hold on to the shred of hope that he didn't know.

_Everything comes out eventually._

Now, it had.

She wanted to run from the fallout, but Harry's hand slapped against her floor, and he stepped over the threshold.

He paced the length of the entryway, still sinking his fingers into his hair until he forced himself to stare at her. Harry could barely look at her. Just the sight of her made him flinch.

She knew because she had watched.

"Is it true?" His voice was raw, and his hands curled into fists at his side. "Hermione, I swear to God if you don't answer me right _now_…"

No words bubbled up, and her heart was in a vice. Slowly, with a sob that tore free and filled the air, Hermione nodded.

Harry would have never hurt her, not even then, but it didn't stop him from raking his arm over the table that held photographs.

A vase her grandmother had given her—honestly, she'd never particularly liked the old thing—toppled and splintered against the tile.

Somehow, it felt like it meant something.

Like the fact that a decade old friendship had been irrevocably ruined, and while she hated that, Hermione wasn't sure she could even claim she was sorry, or that she regretted it.

"When I told you—" Harry swallowed. "In the cafe, when I asked you—Jesus _fucking_ Christ, this cannot be happening."

"It wasn't supposed to happen." Hermione didn't know why she said it. It wasn't as if it would make anything better.

He raised his head. "Don't tell me this was a mistake. You don't _accidentally_ sleep with a married man, and you definitely don't accidentally sleep with my fucking father. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?"

Hot tears streaked her cheeks, and even then, even when it was so terrible, Harry's hand rose to wipe them away before he could think better of it. "I don't think telling you about it will make this better."

"Tell me. At least explain to me how any of this made fucking sense to _you_."

She mulled the words, turning them over even though it felt as though her mouth were made of crushed glass. "I signed up for tinder. I agreed to meet someone at a hotel. It turned out to be him. Harry, I left that night." _And I had regretted it all the way until I fucked him in his office_.

"And then?"

_And then I lied to you, to everyone for a year._

"I told him I wanted to quit because I knew I was going to slip up. I knew that I would…that if we were alone together again, I would do something I shouldn't."

Harry winced. "And you did? You did something you weren't meant to do."

She could hear the pounding in her ears as she nodded.

"How long?" His hands twitched.

"A year."

He sucked in a breath and staggered backwards. "How could you be so fucking stupid? I'm not blind, Hermione, I know this divorce isn't entirely your fault. They've been fucked up for years now, but you're meant to be my best friend."

And now she couldn't be. Hermione didn't have the courage to say them out loud so they could be confirmed. "I know."

"The only way you could have—" Harry's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Good God, Hermione. Please tell me you're not in love with him."

She couldn't breathe. "What if I am?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "He's going to break your heart. If he's so willing to cheat on his wife to be with you, what makes you think he won't do the same to you?"

"I know him." She whispered, and it was received with a laugh, not that she could fault him for that. "And I think, that if he were to hurt me, if I were to know that without a doubt—" Hermione swallowed hard, and wished she could reach for him. "I know that two things are certain: I would deserve the pain that it brought—"

Harry flinched again.

"And I would let him destroy me. I can't—I can't let go. I've tried so many times, and every time, I—"

"I hope the guilt chokes you." Harry snarled, pushing past her. "I hope he breaks your heart, but I know it's only a matter of time before that happens."

She stared at her shoes. "I understand."

The door slammed shut and she leaned against the wall, her tears filling her vision.

~o~

From where she laid in bed, Hermione heard the door open and close. It could only be James this time, unless Harry had returned to dig under her skin again. Both options made her miserable. Both would remind her of what she'd done.

The bedroom door opened with a creak, and he whispered her name. He kicked his shoes off, and the bed dipped below his knee. James pulled her close, slipping an arm around her while cradling her close to his chest. Pressing a cool kiss to her forehead, he pulled the blankets over them.

"Harry will never forgive me." She whispered, curling her fingers in his shirt. "He came here earlier."

He sighed. James brushed hair from her face and stroked her cheek slowly. Over and over again, just how he knew it calmed her. "I'm not surprised he came here, but he'll come around, love. I can't say it will be anytime soon, but he's just found out Lily hasn't been faithful either."

Not that it mattered, but Hermione peeked up at him. "Her overnight trips?"

James nodded. They had suspected it for some time, and it had served to give Hermione false reassurance that she wasn't the only one in the wrong. Which was ridiculous.

She knew it.

"Maybe, but it's not as if his other best mate slept with his mum, so it's still terrible." She muttered.

"Lily wants to keep the news of her affair out of the divorce proceedings." James ran his finger down her arm. "She's not going to threaten you, or your career aims if we split everything we own down the middle."

Hermione blinked. "Wasn't that what you were going to do anyway?"

"Well, yes, but I also gave her the house without argument. So, now that she's been appeased…"

She curled up to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "He hopes that you break my heart by cheating on me. Honestly, it's what I would deserve."

"Hey," he growled, tilting her head. "Don't say that." James kissed her until her head spun, his thumb stroking a path across her cheek. "I've got no intention of doing that."

"He said that if you were willing to cheat to be with me, well, I think you know what he said."

James leaned his forehead to hers. "He's wrong. I'll spend as long as it takes to prove that to you."

"I know." She did. She knew everything about him, even the things he hadn't told his wife in years of marriage. Hermione cupped his cheek and slanted her lips over his. "He asked me how I could have done this."

"I thought it was because I was lucky." James lifted her into his lap, hissing under his breath when she moved against him. "Probably not the best thing to tell him though."

No, what she had admitted had actually been much worse in Harry's eyes, she was sure. "He asked me if I loved you."

Hands froze and James stared up at her. His tongue slid against the seam of his lips. "Oh."

Distracting herself, Hermione slid her fingers through his hair. "I told him the truth, which is that I do." She said it all at once and whimpered when he crushed her to him.

The same was growled against her lips as he lifted her shirt over her head. "I love you."

It moved something deep in her. "It's not fair for me to be happy, not at the cost of—"

His thumb brushed across the center of her breast. "Don't say that."

"No matter what you say, he'll probably never forgive me."

James silenced her by pressing his lips to hers. "There's a lot to figure out, I know, but we have time before I need to sign the paperwork. We'll work everything out, Hermione."

She had her doubts.

"But we don't have to sort it out yet. Let's take the time to figure us out first, not that I need any extra time to decide. I've known since that week you avoided me."

A smile curved her mouth. "I can't hide out in my flat forever, and I don't want to do that for even one day."

"Come away with me. We'll come back when we're ready."

Hermione rocked against him, her lips parting as she nodded. "Okay, I'll go."

Warm fingers splayed across her back, and she moved against him, whispers of promises filling the air.

Perhaps it had been wrong—and there was no question about that—but Hermione couldn't bring herself to believe that any of _this_ was wrong when he called out her name.

* * *

**Thank you for reading this little tale. Eventually, I'll have a full multichapter for this pairing, but it's in the depths of my Google Drive. I hope you enjoyed it! See ya on the next fic. **


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